


Dead Oaks

by PicklesCook



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PicklesCook/pseuds/PicklesCook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Stiles and Derek grew up together but after Stiles' mom died and the Hale house burned down Derek left.<br/>__<br/>Derek didn’t come back for six years. Six years of Stiles having to cope with all of those loses, alone. He had Scott after a while, but it wasn’t the same anymore, wasn’t the Hales, or his mom, his dad, his pack. He had to man up and cook his dad dinner, had to stop his dad from having one more cup Stiles, I promise. He had to deal and learn how to take care of people and Stiles couldn’t help but resent them for dying, resent Derek for leaving, and resent his dad for his grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added things and fixed some mistakes. if you find any don't hesitate to tell me!!

“ _Once upon a time_  the fairy tales begin. But then they end and often you don’t know really what has happened, what was meant to happen, you only know what you’ve been told, what the words suggest” from Haunted by Joyce Carol Oates.

Stiles’ first memories were of Derek Hale. He’s positive his first words were Derek’s name falling from his mouth in a crescendo of cries. Stiles remembers days spent with him, remembers their moms smiling at them as if they shared a secret, like what they were doing was something more than just making mudcakes. Stiles remembers stumbling onto the Hales’ family secret, teeth and claws and flashing eyes. Stiles remembers countless days spent at the Hale house while his parents were working, the house so deep in the forest no one would think to intrude on them. Remembers watching the ‘wolves play fight with each other, even if he wasn’t allowed to join in, too fragile, too young, too _human_.

Stiles went there every summer, right up until the year his mom went to the hospital and they told her she was dying. _Cancer_ , they said, as if it mattered to a twelve-year-old Stiles _how_ his mom was dying when he couldn’t save her,  _nothing we can do,_ _her p _regnancy moved it along.__ They blamed Stiles secretly; he knew this by the way they kept their eyes on his dad, like even looking at the young boy disgusted them. They knew if he hadn’t been born, she wouldn’t be  _dying_. Just as Stiles knew, as his dad and the Hales knew, just as his mom knew.

Stiles can remember clearly sitting by his mother’s bedside in a plastic, wobbly chair as much as the hospital staff would allow him, hands locked together in the unavoidable truth of their departure soon. His mom would talk about anything and everything, a trait he inherited from her. She asked him questions he wouldn’t be able to remember later, talking about subjects he couldn’t recall when he went home and laid awake in his bed; not like the way her voice would always linger in his mind like a ghost. Mrs. McCall, his mom’s nurse, would let him sneak in to see her on No Visiting days, a small wink in his direction the only clue she saw him each time.

His mom died before school started again. His dad wasn’t there when she stopped breathing; caught up with work on the force, too busy trying to pay for food, rent, and the medical bills. Stiles remembers that day the most, the way she looked withered and frayed, like an old t-shirt that had been worn one too many times. He can remember perfectly the hard plastic of the chair as he tried to dig his way through it when her heart stopped beating, when the machine started beeping one continuous high beat. The nurses and doctors rushed in and that part went by too blurry with tears or pain, he couldn’t remember, but he did remember standing outside the room with the Hales until his dad showed up, a warm reassuring presence around him. Each family member was touching him in some way; a hand on his shoulder, hand, and head, plastered to his side or a leg pressed against his. All he could think of in that time was everything he hadn’t had time to do with his mom, everything he hadn’t been able to tell her. Even though he saw her every day, he hadn’t said or done much. Stiles wanted to tell his mom what he said to dad that day, tell her about the prank he pulled on Derek’s visiting cousin, tell her his most prized secret that werewolves existed and the Hales were the pack in the area. How she was pack by default, how his dad was too, and his whole family. He wanted to go to the zoo again, or the aquarium even if the jellyfish scared him. He wanted to hug her and listen to her voice one more time and he wanted to braid her hair. But he couldn’t anymore because she had died looking like a ghost of herself, an old quilt in their attic, his older, worn comics. He never had the chance to tell her any of that.

Just like he never had the chance to go to the Hales’ house the next summer, or any summer after that. The place burned like the sun, Stiles watching from his seat in his dad’s deputy, car. Derek stood at the edge of the still burning house with his uncle Peter, who was there only for vacation, their faces stricken with grief and pain. The fire had blazed before them, the screams of the others long silenced and Stiles wanted to go to them, everything in him telling him to go to them, but then his dad came back with that same grief in his eyes and he couldn’t leave his dad alone like that. The two remaining Hales were gone by the time the deputy had moved out of his field of vision.

He remembers hearing they’d gone back to Peter’s house in New York, the lonely two left of the great and powerful Hale pack. They hadn’t said goodbye, but Stiles hadn’t gone to them either. Another thing he was guilty for.

Derek didn’t come back for six years. Six years of Stiles having to cope with all of those loses, alone. He had Scott after a while, but it wasn’t the same anymore, wasn’t the Hales, or his mom, his dad,  _his pack_. He had to man up and cook dinner, had to stop his dad from having  _one more cup Stiles, I promise_. He had to deal and learn how to take care of people and Stiles couldn’t help but resent them for dying, resent Derek for leaving, and resent his dad for his grief.

Derek and Peter came back to rebuild the house a month after Stiles graduated, or so the server at Stiles’ and Scott’s favorite diner said. Stiles couldn’t finish his burger that night, went home and threw up because they hadn’t called, hadn’t asked if he was okay, hadn’t come to see him. They were rebuilding the house that Stiles would never see again, summers wasted at the McCalls’ instead.

“We shouldn’t be here,” It was a constant reminder he had to say to Scott, a ‘The Hale house is off limits’ speech that seemed like it never stopped. He couldn’t remember where the Hale territory, the  _pack’s_  territory, and the preserve split and it was better just to avoid it all together. They shouldn’t be messing around in it. Stiles had to remind himself that he wasn’t pack anymore, not after everything. Scott usually agreed, claiming the creeps anytime they ventured near the burnt out shell of a house. But this time was different, a goofy smile on Scott’s face like he knew Stiles wanted to go back there as much as he wanted to see it for the first time.

“Come on; let’s see if they started rebuilding yet! It’s okay! We’re eighteen now, nothing can hurt us, we are invincible.” Scott mimicked a hero pose and laughed. It was an innocent suggestion but Stiles’ skin was crawling with nerves.

“We really shouldn’t.” Stiles looked around, suddenly aware no one knew where they were. Yet when Scott gave him the puppy dog eyes, Stiles relented, stuffing his hands in his pockets and clearing his throat. They moved slowly through the woods but loud, even to Stiles’ ears.

“I think we took a wrong turn.” Scott said as they came to the end of the trail they were following.

“Are you saying we’re lost? Seriously Scott?” His voice definitely didn’t crack. Nope. “I thought you had this whole ‘lead the way’ thing down?”

“We’re not _lost_ ,” Scott huffed, flicking his eyes around them, “We just have to follow the trail back until we find where we need to turn!”

“And how will we know when to turn when it’s pitch black outside, huh Scottie? Because I can’t see for shit out here!” Stiles flailed his arms, turning around to try to find the way back to his car. “Let’s just go home before our parents find us gone and kill us.”

An ear-splitting howl erupted from around them and Stiles stumbled, stopping his rant as he tried to keep up right. “Scott we need to go.”

“Was that a wolf?” Scott took a step toward him, eyes wide with curiosity and fear. Another howl sent a burst of chills down Stiles’ back.

“Wolves haven’t lived in California for years, don’t be stupid,” Stiles gulped and closed the distance between them, “but we should really  _go_.” Stiles grabbed onto his friends arm, tried to yank him back, pull him to the safety of Stiles’ jeep. “Scott please.”

“There’s nothing there, see Stiles?” They looked around, but there really seemed nothing was there. “It is no,” Scott was tackled to the ground with a shout, the ‘wolf biting into Scott’s. For a moment Stiles stood frozen, a sense of irony at how Scott was the one bitten. He was the one who just said they were invincible and the one who didn't even know about werewolves and what went bump in the night. When the moment ended, Stiles started to panic. They were going to die. They were going to die at eighteen because that was an Alpha werewolf and they were only two measly humans.

“Fuck. Scott!” Apparently, Stiles’ body hadn’t gotten the memo of how dangerous this situation was. He ran towards his friend, towards the Alpha who, after releasing Scott, backed up and growled low at them. But this was his best friend, his only friend, and Stiles couldn’t lose him too, couldn’t tack that onto the piled up loses on his guilty conscious.

The ‘wolf growled in another low warning as Stiles reached Scott. Scott whimpered in pain and fear and Stiles had to take in a deep breath, had to remember the play fights he’d watched, had to remember the packs’ dynamics or they were dead. Maybe they were already dead but this gave them a chance. No matter how small of a chance it was he was taking it.

“This is pack territory.” Stiles was crouched low, one hand tight around Scott’s upper arm. He knew there was a chance the bite wouldn’t take and Scott would be dead either way. He knew their chances were slim and if this Alpha was here and attacking it probably wasn’t worried about pack politics but Stiles was doing the only thing he could do to try to save them;  _talk_. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The ‘wolf looked surprise, as much as a monstrous beast can look surprised. Crackling filled the air as he changed back, his bones breaking and resetting. Stiles had asked Talia once if it was painful to change out of her alpha form. She had been surprised before nodding yes, a small smile on her face. A man in maybe his mid-thirties stood before them, blonde hair disheveled and greasy. The man was taller than Stiles by a few inches, had a large set of shoulders and lean legs. His eyes were still an electric red, shining warm in the cool of the night. His smile looked twisted and off, a sickening sneer with a dash of amusement. Stiles pointedly ignored the werewolf’s nakedness. Stiles had a memory of werewolf senses, knew the other man could smell his fear as potent as freshly baked bread. Knowing that, Stiles held his ground and tightened his grip on Scott.

“Oh but what about  _you_ , little red? You don’t exactly smell like pack to me. Fair game I’d think.” The alpha’s voice was as low as his growl had been; thick with an accent Stiles couldn’t place. At that moment, Stiles hated his favorite red sweatshirt, hated Scott for wanting to explore the Hale house this late at night and hated the Hales for leaving him undefended.


	2. Run as Fast as You Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mostly just fixed mistakes!!

“If you don’t care about the ‘wolves in the area, then do you care about the hunters?” Stiles asked. Although it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t exactly the truth either; the Argent’s had retired a year or two ago. Stiles didn’t care since it seemed to do the trick. The ‘wolf took a step back, smirk falling into bared teeth and a growl. Stiles kept his eyes on the alpha, watched for any signs or clues of attack. Scott’s breath labored behind him.

“They won’t know if you’re not alive to tell them.”

“Are you really going to take that chance? If I get out of here  _unhurt_ with my friend, I can tell them it was all just an accident, mistaken identity, really I wouldn’t have to tell them anything.” Stiles bargained, hoping he sounded confident, hoping his fear didn’t leak into his voice. Even though he smelled of fear and panic, he still needed to sound strong if this was going to work.

“Stiles,” Scott whimpered behind him and Stiles so badly wanted to turn around and comfort him, but taking his eyes off the Alpha could get them killed. The ‘wolf, Stiles could see the man was more wolf inside than his current appearance let on, let out a loud roar, an angry sound directed at  _Stiles_.

“No! You can leave by yourself! The kid is  _mine_!” The ‘wolf finished with a growl, shifting into his Beta form and taking a step forward. Stiles’ legs ached from staying crouched in his position, yet he couldn’t move, immobilized by fear and his hand on Scott’s arm.

“It’s all or nothing big bad.” Stiles yelled, sweating as fear tightened his chest and filled his head with panic. If this didn’t work, if the werewolf decided that he was bluffing, they were goners. He gulped as another howl ripped through the air. That was it. He wanted to laugh or cry because he was about to die. Stiles couldn’t help but think it was kind of fitting that his first memory was a werewolf, and so would be his last.

“Run!” A loud, booming voice shouted before another werewolf tackled the alpha. Stiles, amidst the panic and confusion, hefted Scott up and ran like hell away from the two snarling werewolves.

“Stiles,” Scott groaned again, face pressed into Stiles neck as they ran, well, Scott more of stumbled along as Stiles dragged him.

“Shh, buddy, I’m getting us out of here. It’s going to be okay, fuck, you have to be okay.” Stiles honestly didn’t know where they were going, but to his panic filled mind, it didn’t matter as long as they got away from the ‘wolves. They stumbled through the preserve, the sounds of fighting drifting off into the night. Stiles kept going, every footfall deafening to his ears. His legs felt like they would give out at any moment, weak from staying crouched for so long and the sudden running. He pushed on anyways, Scott’s blood warming his side. Stiles could see a clearing up ahead, a familiar tree standing at the very edge of the tree line. He knew if he had time to stop and look, the tree would have Stiles’ initials below Derek’s own. He would remember the way Derek’s claws had carved into it, bark curling off of the tree in ribbons. Derek’s smile had been bright with happiness. “It’s a symbol of our friendship,” Derek had hugged him and said, “it will be there as long as we’re still friends.”

Stiles didn’t have time for any of that though. He ran past the tree without a second thought; he couldn’t think to look back with Scott’s heavy breathing in his ear. They burst through the tree line, the clearing opening up to the yard of the Hale house. A drive way wound up to the burnt remains of the Hale house, construction work littering the area that Stiles had played in years ago. They stood like dark, menacing creatures in the night. Only some of the house remained, the salvageable pieces standing tall against a dark backdrop of trees and sky. Stiles hesitated, memories flowing through him in waves; Laura’s smile, Talia’s cooking, Derek’s laugh. Scott’s next whimper put him back in motion, forcing him to start pulling Scott past the equipment and into the shell of a house. The burnt furniture was gone from the first few rooms they stumbled through, the floors littered with tools and broken, burnt wood, the wallpaper hung off the wall in a pathetic attempts to hold on. Stiles bypassed the stairs, no way did he trust those, and went straight to the back living room. He knew from the first (and only) time he explored the broken down Hale house that is was still mostly intact. A lone, burnt couch sat pushed up against the far wall and part of the ceiling had collapsed onto the middle of the floor. Stiles hobbled Scott over to the couch, careful of his wound as Stiles laid him down.

“God, Scott, are you okay?” Stiles hands fluttered around the bottom of Scott’s shirt, too scared to look at the damage full on. Scott’s eyes were closed and it took a panic filled moment to realize that, yes, he was still breathing. Stiles squinted as he slowly pulled the shirt up, as if that could save him from looking at the wound. He choked in relief when he saw it had already started to heal.

“Thank God,” Stiles slumped against the couch, heart still beating wildly. “Thank fucking God you’re alright.” Stiles scrunched his hands into what was left of Scott’s shredded shirt, breath coming in short bursts. He closed his eyes tighter as everything started to feel fuzzy. Stiles tried to take in another deep breath to calm him down but it didn’t work, the panic was flaring up, overwhelming his senses. He just needed to breathe. His hands tightened, nails digging into his palm even through the thin fabric of Scott’s shirt, and he wanted to scream but you needed air to scream and  _he didn’t have any_. Oh God, Scott was going to die because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. What if the Alpha came after them? What if Scott needed Stiles but he was having a fucking panic attack? What if the other werewolf came after them? What if,

“Stiles?” The voice sounded muddled as if he was listening through water. He tried to open his eyes but they were glued shut as he gasped for air, for anything. “Shit.” A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked away, letting out a whimper and a string of ‘no’s. The hand came at him again and Stiles scrambled away from it, hitting the wall with a thud. He opened his eyes but everything was still fuzzy, still muddled and confusing and dark. Stiles still couldn’t breathe or hear right when someone crouched in front of him. He jerked his head up and pressed his back further into the wall when he saw electric blue eyes staring down at him.

“No, please, I,” Stiles blabbered, trying to get away from the werewolf. He choked on his next breath, coughing wildly as his throat felt like it closed.

“It’s okay Stiles, I’m Peter, do you remember me?” The ‘wolf said; his voice soft and familiar. Stiles blinked hard and his vision cleared a bit, showing a man with short brown hair and piercing eyes. Stiles had to remind himself in his state that it was Derek’s uncle Peter, someone he could trust. Peter slowly reached out a hand as if reaching for a scared animal, “It is okay Stiles. You need to calm down.” When Peter finally set his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, Stiles was able to drag in a desperate breath. He lurched forward, whether from his own movements or Peter pulling him in, he didn’t know, but he welcomed the hold and his hands clutched at the werewolf’s shoulders tight enough to bruise if he was human.

Ten minutes later and Stiles mind was clear enough to be embarrassed. He pulled away from Peter, hands shaking, and looked at the unconscious Scott.

“Is he going to be okay?” Stiles asked as he looked back at Peter. The man didn’t look that different from the last time Stiles saw him, but he did have wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a sense of age and sorrow to him. Stiles wondered briefly what Derek looked like now, a grown twenty-two year old and probably not the long limbed teenager Stiles remembered him as.

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Peter paused, “Now that you aren’t freaking out, care to explain exactly  _why_ you were in the woods in the middle of the night?” Stiles stood, albeit shakily, and scuffed, his anger at the Hales rushing back to him. His panic was still there, buzzing around in his mind and making his mouth dry, but he distracted himself with the newly remembered anger. Peter didn’t deserve to ask him questions, not when there was a rogue alpha attacking people on his watch.

“This didn’t happen until you guys got back in town. You can’t make this into my fault Peter.” Stiles brushed off his pants, eyes drifting over to Scott, “And it’s none of your business any ways, I barely even  _know you_. I’m not pack.” Stiles made to move closer to Scott but a hand shot out against the wall, blocking his way. Peter loomed over him, expression still amused but something told Stiles this wasn’t something to laugh about. Stiles took in a deep breath to calm himself. He may have been angry, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try and anger Peter even further than it seemed he has.

“You are in  _my_ territory, boy. It  _is_  my business what you do here. Don’t come back.” He pushed Stiles into the wall, the teen’s head slamming against it with a dull thud. Peter smiled, all teeth, before he took a relaxed step back and started walking leisurely to the door, “Oh,” He called over his shoulder, “I’d advise you not to stay here too long. Derek is not as lenient as I am.” He laughed as he disappeared into the broken down house. Stiles looked at Scott’s sleeping form and wondered what the hell he was going to do with him.

“Fuck my life.”

 


	3. abandonment issues are a pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rewritten some, mostly revised  
> please tell me if i make mistakes! i dont have a beta and its hard for me to revise my own works! please and thanks :)

Getting Scott home without Mrs. McCall noticing was a little harder than Stiles planned. She rushed into the room wielding a baseball bat immediately after he pushed Scott through the window and started climbing in himself.

“What the hell!” Stiles screamed as she barely missed his head. He stumbled onto the bed, falling face first. He quickly righted himself and scrambled to hold his hands up in surrender. “Why do you have a baseball bat? Do either of you even  _play_ baseball?” Stiles asked incredulously. He was thankful it was dark and Mellissa couldn’t see the blood staining both of their clothes and probably the bed. Stiles hadn’t thought about that before pushing Scott through the window. Honestly though, who put their bed under the window anyways? Scott needed to rearrange his room.

Stiles receives a glare, the bat still clutched tightly in her hand. She looked at Scott frowned, and looked back at Stiles.

“Why is Scott unconscious?” Melisa walked closer to the bed and Stiles flailed off of it, forcing her to back up so she'd avoid his wayward limbs.

“We, uh,”  _Think Stilinski_ , “we got drunk and he passed out.” Shit. Stiles didn’t think that one through, but he gives himself credit for thinking of something believable on the spot. Mellissa’s face-hardened into Mother Mode.

“I’m calling the Sheriff.”

“Hey now, let’s not get hasty! Isn’t the impending hangover punishment enough? Do we  _really_  need to bring my  _dad_  into this?” Stiles rambled nervously, scratching the back of his neck and trying to give a reassuring smile.

Scott took that as a cue to groan, roll over, and puke off the side of the bed.

“I’ll clean that up too!” Stiles squeaked, it was a very manly squeak, don’t judge him. Mellissa gave him the most ‘I’m disappointed in you two’ look, Scott owed him big time for this, before sighing.

“Fine. You’re dealing with him in the morning too. I work.” With that she turned and walked out, swinging the bat by her side almost threateningly. Stiles slouched back onto the bed with a sigh of relief.

“Good job buddy.” He patted Scott’s head, “At least now I can make dog jokes about you.” Stiles lay down without changing, exhaustion pulling him down beside Scott. He had a brief thought of the blood coating them and the throw up on the floor before he fell asleep without doing anything about it.

Waking up to the smell of throw up was not inviting, Stiles could probably write a book on how disgusting the smell is and how it’s not what you want to be smelling first thing in the morning. Stiles had managed, somehow during the few hours of rest, to fall half off the bed, face landing right next to the pile of dried puke.

“Fuck,” Stile flinched away, legs losing purchase on the bed and flailing in the air for a minute before gravity vaulted them over his head. “Shit,  _shit_ , ow,” He landed with a thud against Scott’s dresser, elbow smashed against a nob, legs scrunched against the top drawer.

Scott sprang up from his sleeping position, eyes glowing a bright gold. He blinked, confused as he saw Stiles curled against the dresser, and his eyes faded back to their normal warm brown. “What?”  _Such elegance, Scott._  Stiles straightened himself and stood, rubbing his now bruised elbow.

“Okay, how much do you remember Scotty boy?”

It took an hour to get Scott up to speed. He had the obvious “werewolves are real?”, “the Hales were werewolves?” and “am I allergic to silver now?” questions. He also had the distinctly  _Scott_  questions like “I can still eat normal food, right?” “am I harrier now? I don’t need any more hair Stiles!” and the famous "what if Allison breaks up with me because you told my mom we got drunk?"

It was pure luck that Scott’s mom had the morning shift, because he was positive the excuse ‘we were drunk’ wouldn’t cut it if she saw him walking around in bloody clothes while Scott showered. Stiles went down stairs to start on some breakfast, preheating the oven to the lowest setting. Because hey, running for your life makes you extremely hungry. Stiles was also trying to remember everything he could about werewolves and reminded himself to make a trip to his house to grab the bestiary. Peter had made it obvious last night that he would not be receiving help from the Hales.

Stiles moaned when the smell of coffee hit his nose, replacing the lingering sent of vomit. They’d cleaned it up with the remains of Scott’s bloody clothes, now wrapped in three Wal-Mart bags in the trash outside. Stiles hoped no hobos rifled through the trash and brought it to the cops. Although there wasn’t any crime they could be implicated in, it would still look bad. Stiles popped some toast into the toaster and grabbed the egg carton from the fridge. He also grabbed the bacon _and_ sausage, remembering how much the Hales used to eat. He hummed as he scrambled the eggs and started frying bacon. He wondered if his dad was eating a healthy breakfast or if he’d just grabbed something from the store on the way to work.

The water turned off upstairs and Stiles could hear Scott getting dressed before trotting down the stairs. Scott was surprisingly loud for a werewolf, although Stiles figured it was from being newly turned. Stiles turned to make sure Scott was actually okay. He had been doing it all morning, afraid this might be a dream or if he looked away Scott would disappear. Stiles couldn’t help himself from checking every few minutes; he thought Scott had been a goner for sure.

“Is eggs, bacon, sausage and toast okay with you? Or are you starving for some innocent bunny? Maybe some kibble?” His lips tilted up in a smirk as he buttered the bread and put it in the heated oven. The sausage and bacon were sizzling in a pan, popping grease at the eggs and Stiles forearms. Scott growled and shoved Stiles. Stiles grunted, fell and slid back across the kitchen, making him drop the spatula.

“Oh shit, Stiles, I’m so sorry! I didn’t, I wasn’t,” Scott quickly picked up the discarded utensil and set it on the counter as he made his way towards his friend. “I honestly didn’t think I was that strong.”

“Hey, it’s okay Scott.” Stiles smiled at him, accepting the hand to help him up. “You’re a newly bitten werewolf; of course you aren’t going to know your own strength. This just gives me more incentive to train you.” He patted Scott on his shoulder. “I’m going to get the bestiary from my house today so we can get started. The full moon is coming up and I don’t want you rampaging or going to that rogue on instinct.” Scott nodded, eyes still round and apologetic. Stiles patted him again. “Good dog.”

“No more dog jokes,” Scott groaned, but he relaxed and smiled.

“Come on Scotty, it’s been years since I’ve been able to make any! I have tons saved up!” Stiles went back to cooking, realizing the eggs were almost burnt.

When they finally sat down to eat, Scott tensed, eyes flashing gold and moments later, there was a knock at the door. Stiles frowned down at his breakfast, wondering who the hell was here. Could Peter be here to talk to Scott about the bite? Was it the rogue? Stiles didn’t think that asshole would just walk up to the door and _knock_ , but who knew. Stiles stood, sighed and made his way to the door. Scott growled when he tried to open it.

“He smells like blood and wet dog, what if he’s dangerous?” Scott’s hands fluttered, as if wanting to touch Stiles but not understanding why.

“You probably smell the exact same.” Stiles smirked and opened the door despite Scott’s growl of protest. Stiles froze, hand still holding the doorknob. A whine slipped out from behind him, but he didn’t register it.

Derek Hale stood on the doorstep looking extremely angry and uncomfortable. _This_ Derek was completely different from the one who left Beacon Hills six years ago. This new Derek was taller and more muscular, face unshaven. He’d filled out; face sharper, ears not so awkwardly large, arms bulging from his shirt. His eyes were still the same hazel color, but they were hard now, from pain, anger, and six long years of grief. Stiles, for all he was worth, had to stomp the rush of attraction down before either of the wolves could smell it on him. Derek snorted, okay so maybe he wasn’t fast enough in the stomping down area, and pushed his way passed Stiles. He stood in front of the open door, still holding it, frozen because  _Derek changed a lot_ , while Derek introduced himself to Scott as the Alpha of the Hale pack.

“Are you going to just stand there or are you going to close the door and join the conversation?” Derek’s voice was practically the same as when he was sixteen: a little deeper, angrier, gruffer, but it snapped Stiles out of his trance like cold water dumped on him. He slammed the door closed and rounded on Derek, jaw clenched angrily.

“I don’t care if you’re the all mighty and powerful Alpha now or whatever; this is  _my_ territory, Derek. You have no right to just barge in here.” Stiles anger might have been slightly misplaced. Lack of sleep and years of worry if Derek was all right had built up and came to a point at that moment. He was definitely angrier that Derek had ever left in the first place, than the fact he had returned now.

“Beacon Hills is Hale territory.” Derek growled back. His eyes flashed red causing Scott to whimper. Stiles stood his ground though, fingers digging into his palm.

“You left; I don’t think it works like that Derek! You can’t just leave without any notice and expect everything to just be how it was when you left!” Stiles took an angry step forward, shoulders tense.

“ _My whole family died_!” Derek’s voice was distorted, a low growl underneath his words.

“I know! I was there! I had to deal with the loss too! Alone, I might add.” Derek bared his teeth at Stiles and Stiles bared his right back.

“I’m not here to pick a fight with you.” He growled through gritted teeth, “My priority is to keep your friend here,” Derek pointed behind him at the wary Scott, “from killing someone. I’m not here for some bullshit human with abandonment issues who needs to learn how to mind their own damn business.”

“Oh, okay, _now_ you tell me to mind my own business?  _Really_? Would that have helped last night when a rogue Alpha attacked me? No, it wouldn’t have. Oh and whose ‘territory’,” Stiles did air quotes, a sneer pulling at his lips, “was that in, huh? Oh right,  _yours_.” Pretending the red glowing eyes didn’t intimidate him, he took another step closer. Derek stood his ground, leg sliding back as he growled low in his throat.

Stiles really shouldn’t be finding that hot. It was obviously not the time to question his sexuality, and obviously not with Derek Hale.

Derek blinked, confusion slipping over his face for a brief second, werewolves and their damned supernatural noses, before he straightened with a sigh. He turned away from Stiles, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“As I said, I’m not here to fight you Stiles. I have to train your friend. The full moon is coming and I can’t have an untrained omega running around town mauling people. You can stay here or leave, I honestly don’t care.” His voice was carefully controlled and Stiles wanted to punch him right in his perfect face. However, Derek’s little speech had reminded him this wasn’t about Stiles’ unresolved abandonment issues. This was about his best friend who just recent been bitten by a werewolf. His shoulders bowed as all his energy left him, reminding him how little he slept last night and the night before, and the one before that, and before that. Stiles hadn’t been sleeping well since the Hales got back into Beacon Hills. His anger still buzzed under the surface, Peter’s words from the night before keeping it fueled, but he was too tired to deal with it, too tired to fight Derek and definitely too tired to have conflicting emotions about Derek 2.0.

“There’s coffee in the pot, Scott. You finish your breakfast and put mine up, will you? I’m gonna take a shower.” Stiles really didn’t want to back down, he really didn’t, but Scott looked equally parts concerned and confused standing behind Derek. Stiles nodded at his friend and smiled, and even though it was forced, it seemed to do the trick. Scott calmed down considerably, smiling back. Derek’s shoulders relaxed slightly too, like maybe he had been waiting for Stiles to start again. Mumbling about not breaking anything, Stiles made his way up to the bathroom. He rubbed his temples with his forefingers, already feeling the impending headache. He reminded himself that he hadn’t taken his pills yet and he really needed to get on that if he was going to deal with Derek and Scott all day.

_This is going to be a hard day._

 

Hours later found Scott and Stiles relaxing in the living room, Derek finally gone. Scott was slouched against the couch, eyes closed, and mouth open as he gasped for breath. Stiles was perched in the armchair, legs folded underneath him, his old (totally  _not_  stolen from the Hale house, ha ha what no) bestiary resting in his lap. Scott and Derek had, moments earlier, gotten back from their long run through the forest. From the way Derek hadn’t been sweating or breathing hard and Scott  _had_ , he assumed Scott’s body still wasn’t full werewolf powerful yet. That was something, since in his bestiary it said when bitten the powers were inherited right away. Stiles made a mental note to leaf through it and update the info.

“He’s an asshole and I hate him.” Scott groaned, wiping at his sweaty forehead with an equally sweaty hand.

“Welcome to the club,” It was only a soft mutter, yet he knew subconsciously Scott would hear him. He, too invested into reading, didn’t even look up when Scoot stretched and almost fell off the couch. He hummed and highlighted a sentence in the book. “ _Lycanthropy can cure most disorders, like ADHD, thyroid diseases, some forms of cancer, asthma, etc._ ” Stiles quoted from the book, another hum quickly following it. “Huh,” His mother’s face flashed in his mind and he buried it, heart clenching in his chest. “Looks like you won’t need your inhaler anymore, buddy-o.”

Scott, of course, ignored him.

“How am I going to get through more of this ‘training’ if Derek’s such an ass about everything?” Scott followed shortly with another question, not even giving Stiles time to answer even if he’d been paying attention. “Oh God, what am I going to tell Allison? She’s coming back tomorrow! Oh hey Al, I was bit by a werewolf while you were on your summer trip, and now I howl at the moon? She’s going to think I’m crazy and break up with me!”

“Yeah just tell her that, she was a hunter so,” Stiles wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation anymore. He was more concentrated on absorbing as much information as possible from the book in his hands. He might need to ask Allison if he could borrow their bestiary, it may be more up to date than this one.

“She’s a what now?” Scott’s eyes flashed gold with surprise, full control still slightly out of his reach.

“What?” Stiles looked up, eyebrows coming together in confusion. Shit, what had he said?

“You said Allison’s a hunter? Do you mean like Dean and Sam hunter or ‘she just really likes to kill bambi’ hunter?”

“Oh,” Stiles mentally cursed himself, Allison had wanted to tell Scott herself,  _if_  she ever told him, “um, Dean and Sam? What did you think all those ‘my dad and I are going camping for a week or two’ were? No one goes camping that much Scott.” Stiles laughed awkwardly, “I mean, as long you don’t hurt anyone you should be fine.”

“So you’re telling me you both knew about this type of stuff? And no one told me?” Scott gave him his best puppy dog eyes, his lip quivering. Allison was going to kill him for making Scott cry. Shit.

“We didn’t want to drag you into this world because you’re so innocent, you know? It wasn’t like we just didn’t  _want_  to tell you.” Stiles said, sighing in relief when Scott nodded in understanding.

“Are we in a soap opera? This feels like a soap opera.” Scott flopped back against the couch, closing his eyes again.

“No, then I’d be screwing Allison’s dad or something. But sadly, I’m not.” Scott barked out a laugh. Stiles relaxed more into the seat, glad Scott wasn’t too angry with them. He smiled as he went back to studying the bestiary. At least they could still joke around, even if everything had just gotten ten million times more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aren't scott and stiles gr8 friends tho


	4. who do you trust?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so last chapter i have to edit before i start on chapter five!!!

At some point during the training sessions, Stiles realized Derek avoided interacting with him as much as possible. He didn’t really mind, not when they had so many unresolved issues between them. But it was weird. When they were younger they were practically inseparable. Laura would tease Derek about it a lot and Talia would have to break up the fight that always, without fail, came after it. Stiles never understood why Derek was always defensive about the time they spent together. It was probably from him hanging out with a twelve year old. No normal sixteen-year-old would willing spend that much time with someone so much younger. It was to the point where anyone who mentioned how much time the two spent together would get a face full of claws. Talia once approached Stiles and asked if Derek was a bother, if he felt uncomfortable with him. Stiles had said Derek was his best friend; of course he’d want to spend time with him. Talia had smiled softly at him before patting him on the back and letting him go back to playing.

Stiles watched as Derek launched Scott over his head and he couldn’t help but remember the summers he spent at the Hale house. The last summer there, Derek had spent most of it training just like this. Talia had been a better trainer, though. Stiles still had to give the guy credit; Derek hadn’t been trained to be the alpha, hadn’t been trained to train others and be a leader.

A low whine snapped Stiles out of his increasingly depressing thoughts. He looked up to see Scott watching him, Derek standing behind him with arms crossed, face blank.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked. He smiled nervously at Stiles as he took steps toward him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just remembering some stuff. Sorry, I’m not used to all the ‘you can smell my feelings’ yet.” Scott paused and nodded, though his face was still a perfect picture of worry. Derek fidgeted, eyes narrowing as if he could hear the lie in Stiles voice. Which was impossible, Stiles had perfected his werewolf lying abilities years ago. Scott nodded again, a little awkwardly, and turned back to Derek to continue his training. Allison was by their side in moments, smiling like the angel she was. Scott forgot all about Stiles’ projected feelings the moment Allison appeared but Derek continued to watch him for a few more moments before finally directing his attention to the other two. Stiles sighed in relief. He said something about getting some lunch, but the three of them were already distracted by training tactics. Stiles didn’t mind, it was easier to sneak away when you didn’t have to actually _sneak_.

He got in his jeep as his phone started ringing. Stiles groaned, hoping it wasn’t Scott asking to bring some food back for them, but no, it was his dad. He was glad that since graduating, his dad didn’t worry as much about him not making it home. The Sheriff usually assumed he was with Scott, which he was right about 98% of the time. Their relationship’s been strained ever since Claudia died, both of them dealing with the loss in different ways. The Hales’ death didn’t make it any better, made it worse in some ways. Stiles couldn’t let it go that it was murder but he couldn’t explain why without letting the Hales’ secret out. Although their relationship was slowly getting better, smoother, they still rarely called each other, work and their still tense relationship making talking still awkward. It was better that way, less questions he couldn’t answer. Stiles hated lying to his dad; he did that enough through his middle school and high school years. He hated seeing his dad look resigned all the time, tired and worn out because of him. He knew he could be a handful and he hated to see how stressed it made the Sheriff. Stiles was just glad things were getting better between them.

“Hey dad,” He answered the phone, hands fumbling to start his car and hold the phone up to his ear at the same time. “What’s up?”

“Just checking up on you, kid.” The sound of keys typing and chatter filled the background on the Sheriff’s end. Stiles sighed; his dad has been working too much lately. There had been more instances of people getting attacked in the woods in the last week, making the towns people antsy. Derek looked more frustrated with each attack and the Sheriff stayed later each night. They were all just lucky no one had been bitten, and survived, other than Scott.

Stiles hummed, getting out of the driveway. He was glad to leave the training session, at least for a little while. Allison and Scott were continuously making goo-goo eyes at each other when they thought no one was paying attention and Derek looked constipated 90% of the time, a constant scowl etched in his ruggedly handsome face.

“You don’t need to be worrying about me, dad. Are you eating right, please tell me no take out at least?” Stiles drove toward the Arby’s, curly fries the only real thought on his mind. The Sheriff laughed and assured him he was in fact eating right. He chatted about some case at work, what Melisa brought by for dinner the other night, the new recruits in the office, and Stiles just listened, glad his dad was doing okay. Stiles hummed when appropriate, answered his dad’s questions with brief, not-replies. He made it back to the McCall residence just in time to see Derek and Scott have another glare off.

“Stiles?” His dad asked. He had probably asked a question and Stiles was too busy paying attention to the way Derek’s muscles looked in that tank top to actually answering him.

“Sorry, I got a bit distracted there. What were you saying?” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and glanced over to where Derek and Scott were glaring at each other in the large clearing behind Scott’s house. Allison was talking to them about something Stiles couldn’t hear. He got out of his jeep and started making his way to the group. The Sheriff scoffed.

“Peter Hale came by the department wanting to see the reports for the fire.” Stiles froze with a curly fry half way to his mouth. Peter had been mysteriously absent during their training sessions, but Stiles figured Derek didn’t want him there. Maybe it was something else? Like Derek was distracting them while Peter did something behind the scenes? But what would they be doing that they wanted Stiles out of?

“Why did he want them?” Stiles resumed walking over to his spot on the field and glanced over to the wolves again, finally popping the fry in his mouth. He hoped he sounded nonchalant; he didn’t want his dad thinking he was suspicious. Derek was watching him and Stiles quickly looked away. Shit.

“I have no idea son.”

“Maybe he thinks it wasn’t an accident?” Stiles _knew_ it wasn’t an accident. He had tried to convince his dad when the investigation had started with no luck. The Argents claimed innocents, but Gerard and Kate had mysteriously ‘left for home’ after the Hale fire. Stiles didn’t trust it, but he also didn’t trust Peter snooping around. His dad sighed.

“We’ve gone over this, son. Who would want to kill the Hales like that? People don’t just murder a whole family without reason, Stiles. The Hales were good people and no one had any anger against them. Unless you have evidence otherwise, there would be no case.” Stiles bit his cheek, mentally groaning at his dad’s suspicious tone. He couldn’t exactly tell his dad the Hales were werewolves. It’s been too long and he promised his dad he didn’t know anything about the fire years ago.

“I don’t know. It’s just… why else would Peter want the information?” They both were silent for a moment, before his dad let out a sigh.

“I don’t know either.” Stiles looked over at Derek and Scott sparring and hoped that he wasn’t going to be their enemy. No matter how angry he was at Derek, he didn’t want to have to fight against him. Nevertheless, Peter and Derek obviously knew something they weren’t telling him, something those records could prove, and he needed to find out what. Did it have to do with the rogue Alpha? Did Peter know about Kate and Gerard leaving? Did Derek?

Stiles clenched his fists and looked away.

“Okay, son, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, right?” The hopeful edge to his dad’s voice made him choke up. He hated keeping his dad out of the loop but he didn’t have a choice.

“Yeah, sure thing daddy-o.” They said their goodbyes and hung up and when he looked back at the trio, Derek was gone. Scott and Allison made their way over to him, Scott scowling and Allison smiling sweetly at him. _What were the Hales hiding?_

It was only one day until the full moon and they had to be prepared for anything, and that meant the Hales turning on them. Stiles hated that thought, but it was a possibility. It didn’t help that Scott was getting increasingly temperamental the closer it got to the full moon. Stiles knew the first one was the hardest and just hoped Scott was paying enough attention to Derek’s training to _not_ kill him. He was a lot calmer with Allison there, but she couldn’t be there that night and it was only going to be Stiles. He knew the plan: keep Scott calm, watch some movies, play some games, _eat_. He would line the house in mountain ash just in case Scott lost control and tried to escape to his ‘alpha’. Allison had slipped him a gun earlier, face serious.

“One more days, Stiles. If he attacks, I won’t blame you for shooting him.” She had nodded sternly before going into the house to talk to a grumpy Scott and an even moodier Derek.

The three of them said their goodbyes, parting ways. Stiles apologized for needing to go home, but really, he could not spend another night there. Thoughts of the Hales spiraled through his head on his way home. He couldn’t figure out what they were hiding. How was he supposed to play a game he didn’t know the rules of? He cursed himself silently for not paying more attention to Peter’s absence and their earlier encounter. Peter had said to stay out of their territory, had threatened him with Derek, yet Derek had immediately came to help him train Scott. Stiles didn’t know what to think. He pulled into his driveway, still frustrated with himself and the remaining two Hales. Glad the Sheriff was still at work, he stomped into his house, granting himself the pleasure of a tantrum. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see him stomping his feet and angrily putting his keys into the dish. His anger dissipated when he arrived in front of his bedroom door, morphing into a bone deep exhaustion he had tried to keep under wraps since the Hales return to Beacon Hills. Stiles stumbled through the doorway, stripping himself of his clothes and making his way to his bed.

“God,” He mumbled to himself, face planting into his pillow. It had been so long since he’d had a decent night’s sleep and it was starting to wear on him. He closed his eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

He was on the edge of sleep when he heard his window open, but by then he was too tired to care.

_“It’s your fault.” His dad slurred, hands swinging out angrily and drunkenly. Stiles flinched back, from the words and his flailing arms. “She wouldn’t have died if it wasn’t for you,” Stiles breath caught in his throat and he stumbled away, “you killed her.”_

_“No, I” Stiles stuttered out, the words getting stuck and jumbled in his throat. “I’m sorry, I,” His dad glared at him, downing another drink. A hand landed on his shoulder and jerked him around. 16-year-old Derek stared at him with dead eyes, his hair singed, tears streaming down his face._

_“Why didn’t you come to me Stiles? Why didn’t you help us?” Stiles tried to pull away, bile rising in his throat as Derek’s face started to burn and blister, the hand on his shoulder turning to a black crisp, the skin pealing and flaking off, but he was no match for the werewolf’s strength. “Why Stiles? Why?”_

_Stiles tried to scream but nothing came out, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make a noise, and couldn’t get away. He frantically tried to pull away but the burning Derek held tight, face twisting in pain. Stiles could hear the screams from behind Derek, terrified, painful screeching._

_“You killed her,”_

_“Why didn’t you help us?”_

_Stiles finally pushed at Derek’s chest, watched as it caved in with puffs of smoke and Derek stumbled back, crumbling to the ground as flames licked around him. He couldn’t hear anything over the screams and crackling of the fire. He didn’t to get out of there, he was going to die, he needed to get out._

_He started running, flames catching around him, trees falling, his dad’s words circling around him, the screams too loud, Derek’s image burned into his eyes. He kept running, trying to get out of the woods, get anywhere away from the screams and the fire._

_Stiles tripped over something heavy, body sent to the ground hard. His knees scraped against the forest floor, hands catching himself and ripping open on rocks and twigs. He scrambled up, ignoring the pain in his legs. “Stiles?” A choked off whimper sounded behind him and the knot in his stomach grew. He knew that voice. He would always recognize that voice._

_“Scott? No, no no, not you, please,” Stiles sobbed, slowly turning around and seeing Scott crumbled on the ground, a mess of blood and mud. “No, please,” He stumbled over to him, landing on his already scraped knees next to Scott’s shaking body._

_“Why didn’t you protect me?” Scott choked, blood spilling out of his mouth. Stiles sobbed louder, tears falling down his cheeks making tracts in the dirt and ash._

_“I’m sorry,” His hands shook as he pet Scott’s hair, moving it out of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” The screams grew louder around him, enveloping him in their pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I,”_

_“Stiles!” He jerked up, eyes wide as he looked around him. “Stiles wake up!” His eyes fell on Derek, his hazel eyes frantic with worry. “It’s just a dream, you’re okay.”_

Stiles jerked awake, drenched in cold sweat and throat raw from screaming. Cold hair blew from his window, making him shiver as he adjusted to reality. Fuck, that one was bad. He took in his room with deep breaths, brows furrowing as he realized he didn’t open his window before he went to sleep.

“What?” He took in a deep breath before getting out of bed, feet padding on the wooden floor. He reached the window and reached out, hands trembling. Stiles looked out into the calm night but there was nothing out there. “Fuck, I’m being too paranoid.” He muttered to himself, pulling the window closed with a soft click. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, closing his eyes as a wolf howled in the distance.

Stiles woke up early to his dad’s hurried movements down stairs. When Stiles emerged from his room dressed in fresh clothes, the Sheriff grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes serious.

“Stiles, I need you to do me a favor.” His grip tightened on Stiles.

“Yeah dad?” Stiles bit his lip, worrying it with his teeth. Was this about his nightmare? He had hoped his dad didn’t hear him. He didn’t feel like having this talk with the Sheriff, he had other things to worry about, like Scott and the full moon and the Hales.

“Stay out of the preserve tonight. Please promise me you’ll stay out of the preserve tonight.” The Sheriff’s voice shook.

“Why? What happened? What’s going on dad?” Stiles grabbed the hands on his shoulder, “Was there another murder?” The howl from last night popped in his mind and he felt sick. His dad let go and ran a hand over his face, shoulders tense.

“They found three more bodies this morning. There’s something in those woods and I don’t want you trying to find it. Please, Stiles, I don’t know what I’d do if,” He stopped, eyes closed and his shoulders shook.

“Okay, yeah, no going out in the preserve tonight. I promise.” Stiles reached out for his dad, lump in his throat. His dad shrugged him off, nodded curtly and sighed. Some of the worry bled off his face.

“Thank you.”

Scott was already acting agitated when he got there. He couldn’t sit still, hands tapping on his thighs and Allison gave them both a pitying look.

“We’ll be fine.” Stiles told her, his voice coming out more certain than he felt. She nodded her head slowly, before walking over to Scott and kissing him.

“You’ll be fine babe.” She muttered to him and Stiles looked away, not wanting to intrude on their moment.

“Stay safe Allison. Do you really have to go?” Scott whispered back, voice distraught.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, okay? Stiles will keep you under control here.” She turned to Stiles, eyes going cold. “I trust you to make the right choices.” Stiles swallowed, felt the press of her gun on his hip and nodded. She smiled softly and left before Scott could talk her out of it. They stood there in silence, both looking at the door. Stiles sighed and clapped his hands together, surprising Scott.

“So! How about some video games?”

Halfway through their umpteenth Super Mario Brothers Stiles phone rang. He paused the game, Scott’s face twisting with worry. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” He patted the werewolf on the shoulder, trying to be reassuring, even though they had agreed only to call in emergencies. Maybe Allison was just worried and wanted to check up on them, yeah that’s it.

“Hello?” Stiles answered, clutching his phone in a sweaty hand.

“Stiles? It’s Chris.” There was nothing good if Chris was using Allison’s phone to call him. He swallowed and pulled away from Scott’s quickly darkening face. He got up and walked over by the door, free hand fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Shoot,” For all of their sakes, he hoped Allison was okay.

“Allison and I were attacked by the rouge. He got in a good swipe at her and she hurt her leg, we’re getting her patched up right now. Allison was able to shoot it with wolfs bane bullets though,” Scott’s low growl rumbled in the air and Stiles stilled.

“Okay, I need to go; Scott’s getting a little growly over there.” He tried to joke, but Scott’s growl was growing louder. He cut off Chris’ reply and shut the phone. He slowly made his way over to Scott’s shaking form.

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles took another step forward before stopping as Scott stopped shaking, “Stay calm. Allison is fine.” Stiles muttered, hands up as Scott whipped around, face already transformed.

“Let me go to her,” Scott growled and Stiles shook his head.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“You’re lying!” Scott yelled, eyes slitting. Stiles yelped as he dodged Scott’s lunge at him. Scott growled, just barely missing Stiles with a swipe of his claws. Stiles scrambled over the couch and pushed it into him, not waiting for the grunt of his target before he bolted for the stairs, Scott hot on his heels. He flew into the bathroom and hurriedly locked the door behind him.

“Damnit Scott, de-wolf and call her yourself! You can’t just rush out there, not with the Alpha on the loose!” He heard Scott growl and scratch at the door, _shit_. “I’m trying to _help_ you!” He was also trying not to get killed by his best friend.

Stiles almost pissed himself when his phone started ringing. In a fit of sarcasticness, he’d set Derek’s ringtone on his phone to a wolf howling and now that he thought about, it was probably a bad idea. Because, wow, totally not the time to be pissing his pants from his own stupidity.

“Stiles, where is Scott?” Derek growled into the phone. Stiles wanted to growl back, but at that moment Scott started slamming himself against the bathroom door. Frantically, Stiles climbed into the bathtub and started opening the window with one hand, the other clenching tightly to his phone.

“Oh, you know, in the Bahamas getting ice cream,” Another loud growl from behind the door, “Where do you _think_ he is Derek?” Snark was the only thing Stiles could produce at the moment, which was good because that means he wasn’t as terrified as he thought he was.

“ _Stiles!_ ” It was so not the time to be turned on by Derek growling his name. He seemed to be having that problem lately, inappropriate boner times. It could be the adrenaline.

“We’re at his house and he’s trying to kill me!” He got the window open the same time the door bust open. Melissa was going to kill them, if Scott didn’t kill him first. “Hey while I’m still alive and breathing and shit, do your eyebrows still disappear when you shift?” Derek growled and hung up and Scott stepped into the room, face shifted, claws out. Stiles slowly inched out the window, eyes on Scott the whole time. The moon was coming up and with it Scott’s face turned more feral than he thought possible.

“Hey, Scotty boy, I’m your best friend, right?” Scott took a step forward and Stiles slid out the window. Slid might have been the wrong word, more like flailed out the window. He landed on his ass, still inside the mountain ash line. He groaned and wasted no time crossing it. Scott jumped out the window moments later, growling low and threatening. Stiles had a flashback to the rogue and he wanted to cry or laugh or maybe throw up. He wasn’t quite sure.

A piercing howl broke through the air, freezing both the boys. Stiles breathing stopped and a chill ran down his back; Scott tensed and took a step back. The Alpha was coming. Scott slammed himself against the invisible barrier of mountain ash, “Let me out!” Scott’s voice was distorted and angry, borderline desperate.

“This is for your own good.” Stiles turned his back to the werewolf and pulled the gun out of his holster. He looked around, praying to whoever was listening that Derek had hung up to come save him from the big bad wolves. Scott howled back to the alpha, a lot less threatening than the rogue’s, but Stiles knew he was sending a ‘I’m here’ to the other. This was not going to go well. Stiles knew talking to the Alpha wasn’t going to work this time, you can only talk your way out of being killed once. He gulped in a deep breath, trying to keep the panic under control. The only thing that kept him calm was the thought that Derek was coming soon. Or at least he hoped.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Stiles let out both a sigh of relief and a curse because of course it was Peter who showed up first. He didn’t know if this meant he was still going to die or not. Stiles stayed silent, for once, and glared. Peter’s eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to the side as if he heard something, and he smirked. “I want you to know I don’t trust you.” He growled before turning around, face changing into an amused expression.

“It seems the Alpha is still alive and kicking, nephew.” Peter said as Derek emerged from the shadows. If it was any other time, no, no Stiles still snorted and rolled his eyes. Derek Hale had always had a thing for dramatics, Stiles was glad six years didn’t change that.

“He won’t be for much longer.” Derek snarled at his uncle, eyebrows scrunched up on his forehead. He approached Stiles and looked him up and down, seemingly checking for any visible injuries. Stiles held his breath, surprised Derek was worried about him. Derek paused at the gun still clenched in Stiles’ hand. “Are you okay?” Stiles blinked, frozen to his spot. This Derek had barely even spoken a word to him and they’d seen each other almost every day for a month, and yet here he was asking if Stiles was okay. Scott howled again and Stiles snapped out of it long enough to nod a yes.

“I’ll probably have a bruise on my ass though.” Derek’s mouth lifted to the side in an almost smile before it dropped, hidden in the hard gloom and doom of Derek 2.0. He whipped around, straightened his shoulders and shifted into beta form. The sound of bones rearranging was sickening and defining in the quiet night and Stiles stomach twisted in a knot when he realized it wasn’t coming from either Hale.

The rogue Alpha emerged from the darkness, still in mid-shift. His back bowed in a gruesome bend; Stiles could see the bones rearranging themselves under the stretched tight skin. He also noted, almost absently, that both shoulders were unharmed. Either there was another Alpha running around or this one was getting help. He had to tell Derek, if they all survived this.

“Give me my Beta.” The rogue growled, face morphed half way between Alpha and Beta forms. Stiles thought he was going to throw up.

“He isn’t yours. This is my territory, my _pack_ , and you violated my territories rules. I’d advise you to leave,” Derek growled back, louder and stronger than the other alpha.

“ _But I bit him_ ,” He sounded like a five year old having a tantrum. He looked at Stiles and his glare deepened, disdain and rage clear on his twisted face before smoothing out, a toothy smirk replacing the angry sneer. “Give me the human then. He was my real target anyways.” Stiles took a step back, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. _Why him?_

“No.” Stiles almost laughed at how childish Derek sounded. A hysterical giggle built up in his throat. He remembered when Derek was younger and he refused to share Stiles’ attention with anyone. He’d bitten Laura’s hand for ‘kidnapping’ him once. A soft giggle escaped Stiles at the thought of smaller Derek. Derek’s shoulders tensed further at the sound.

“One or the other, Hale. Choose.”


	5. you have to choose Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were never pack.” Peter’s voice broke through their concentration on each other, both of them forgetting he was still there, “You were always just a weak human; you still are just a pathetic weak human, Genim. You were never pack and never will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!! again, this is not beta'd so please tell me if there are mistakes!

No one dared to move, the only sounds were Stiles labored breathing. Stiles didn’t dare to reach out to Derek for safety. He was scared, he was man enough to admit that, damned fucking terrified. The rogue’s question hung heavy in the air and Stiles hoped to god it wouldn’t have to be answered. He was scared what it would be.

“Choose or I’ll choose for you.” The Alpha taunted, breaking the quiet spell that had fallen over them. Derek seemed to be trying to glare the other into submission. Scott was, and honestly Stiles wasn’t even _thinking_ about Scott anymore, obliviously throwing himself against the mountain ash barrier. Peter stood next to Derek, smirking like the ass Stiles realized he _was_. He didn’t seem troubled by the fact that the Alpha was making Derek choose who to kill, like it was some kind of game. Stiles couldn’t figure out how Derek and Laura had always referred to him as the ‘Fun Uncle’, but hey, six years and the death of pretty much your entire family can change a person. Stiles figured he could be a little lenient on the man. Wolf. Man wolf. _Really not the time Stilinski._

“The clock is ticking,” The rogue moved his finger back and forth, ‘tick-tock’ing with the motion. “Do you have an answer Hale?” Derek just kept glaring, but Stiles saw the almost invisible tense of his shoulders, a sign Stiles had come to learn meant he was ready for an attack. “Time is up. What will your answer be; Scotty boy or your wanna-be Red Riding Hood?” The rogue sneered, stepping forward. Derek tensed further.

“I’m not going to choose between my pack mates!” Derek’s voice was filled with panic. Stiles felt his heart flutter at Derek still calling him pack. He forcedly reminded himself that they were keeping things from him and this could be a trick.

“Wrong answer. Well, it’s not like I have anything to lose anymore.” Within moments everything went to hell. The rogue launched himself at Stiles, teeth bared as a large roar ripped through the air. Stiles stumbled backwards, his mouth opened to yell as he fell down, hand shooting back to catch himself. The moment he landed, he knew the mountain ash line was broken. Before he had time to warn anyone, Scott flew past him and clashed with the Alpha, claws digging into the other wolf’s chest. Scott caught him off guard, getting the upper hand on the more powerful wolf. They both tumbled onto the ground, Scott slashing at the other’s chest.

“Don’t,” Scott growled out, “touch,” he slashed at the Alpha’s face, blood and skin flying off his claws, “what’s mine.” The Alpha, finally getting a grip on Scott, pushed the Beta off of him. Scott was sent skidding back, body crouched low to the ground, but before the Alpha could go after him, Derek was there, a hand wrapped around the rogue’s throat.

“I warned you. Leave or I’ll kill you.” Derek lifted him into the air by his neck, “The clock is ticking,” He mocked. Stiles could have laughed if he wasn’t still splayed on the ground; a growling Scott crouched next to him. The Alpha scratched at Derek’s arm, gurgling noises coming from his throat.

“Derek, he can’t breathe, how is he going to answer you?” Stiles yelled, scared to move with all the wolves shifted around him. Derek turned toward him and snarled, “Just loosen a little,” Stiles took a deep breath, keeping eye contact with him, “please.”

“He tried to kill you.” Derek grounded out, claws digging farther into the rogue’s neck.

“Please,” Derek’s eyes flashed before he turned back to the other Alpha.

The Argents rounded the corner just in time to see Derek slam the Alpha into the ground, claws digging into the others neck.

“What’s your answer?” Derek’s voice was layered, a darker, deeper voice underlining his normal one. Scott scrambled towards Allison as soon as her scent washed over him, but Stiles paid them no attention. He ignored Chris convincing Derek to let the wolf go, “ _Don’t kill him, Derek; I don’t want to hurt you.”_ The only thing Stiles could focus on was Peter and the way his face twisted in anger and disdain as he looked back at Stiles. He looked disappointed, like he wanted the Alpha to get him, like that’s what he had planned.

“Stiles?” The voice made him jump and look up to find Derek standing above him, eyes closed off. Stiles wet his lips. “You okay?” Stiles nodded in reply, taking Derek’s’ outstretched hand to help him up. After he was standing he brushed his palms off on his jeans, eyes downcast as he thought of how he’d approach the subject of Peter. He was almost positive the older man had something to do with the rogue, but how was he supposed to tell Derek his only living family was trying to kill them? Or at least Stiles? Stiles didn’t think Derek was a part of it, hoped and prayed Derek wasn’t a part of it, but what was he supposed to do if he was? He ran a dirtied hand through sweaty hair and swallowed hard.

“Thanks,” Stiles watched as Chris chained the Alpha up and jabbed a needle into his arm. He looked over to Peter who was still watching him; Stiles quickly looked away. “Hey uh, Derek? We should, you know, go somewhere. Alone. Without prying furry ears.” He purposely didn’t look at Peter.

“I don’t’ think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Stiles frowned, shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Seriously, Der, what’s your problem with me? You’re the one who moved across the country without even saying goodbye!” Stiles realized that wasn’t really the problem here, but his anger and hurt constantly boiled under his skin and threatened to boil over at any moment.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” Derek muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles huffed and crossed his arms too, standing up straighter. They were reverted to five year olds who couldn’t get their way. Chris walked over and they shared a short, curt goodbye before the Argents (and Scott) left him alone with the Hales. Peter cleared his throat, obviously not happy. They both ignored him.

“Why not? You’re acting like I’m a stranger and I’m sick and tired of it!” Stiles’ arms flailed and he took a step closer to Derek, getting in his face. “’We’re not talking about this’” He imitated Derek, anger filling his voice, “How many times are you going to say that? Because it’s gotten old real fast. At some point we are going to have to talk about it, whether you fucking like it or not.”

“Go home Stiles. Go home and stay out of this.” Derek turned away from him.

“I’m already in it! You’re family dragged me in before I could even think for myself and I can’t get out anymore! There’s no turning back for me, so stop trying to play martyr and let me in!” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm angrily. “Didn’t you just call me pack?” He knew he sounded desperate but he didn’t want to lose Derek again. He didn’t know if he could deal with the pain if Derek ran out of his life again.

“You were never pack.” Peter’s voice broke through their concentration on each other, both of them forgetting he was still there, “You were always just a weak human; you _still are_ just a pathetic weak human, Genim. You were never pack and never will be.” Derek turned towards Peter with a growl, moving in-between Stiles and his uncle. “Derek,” Peter said with a sigh, “you know this as much as I do.” He took a step closer to them, “You know what he did.” Derek jerked forward as if he wanted to go to Peter, but couldn’t decide if he wanted to leave Stiles. His heart was beating faster with confusion and fear. If Derek chose Peter’s side, whatever his side was, Stiles wasn’t sure he would stay safe.

“I did what?” Stiles yelled from behind Derek, never one to let things go. “What did I do so wrong that you have kicked me out of the pack?” Peter’s eyes flashed and he took another step forward, causing Derek to tense. “I’m seriously getting pissed off of being out of the loop here, when it kind of _revolves around me_?” Another step from Peter had Derek growling and Stiles stepping back. He was scared of Peter, rightfully so, but his hands were still clenched into fists and his anger still sizzled. He refused to back down.

“We’re leaving.” Derek snarled to him, stepping towards Peter. Peter looked smug and a lump formed in Stiles throat.

“You can’t just keep running away from me.” Stiles said, watching as they started walking off. “We are going to have to talk about this at some point! You can’t avoid it forever Der!” Stiles was left alone with the mess of the McCall residence and a wary feeling growing in his stomach.

After cleaning up as much as he could (he balanced the door back on its frame, cleaned up the mountain ash, picked up Allison’s gun and his phone) Stiles headed home. It was already 3 am by the time he crawled into bed, exhaustion hanging on to him like a petulant child. He dug deeper into his comforter, burring into the warmth and comfort and hoping that it would protect him from his own thoughts. Stiles tried to push everything out of his mind but only succeeded in pushing Derek to the forefront. The Hales didn’t trust him, he could see it in the silent smugness of Peter’s smirk and the tense, curt way Derek would speak to him. He could see that but he couldn’t see _why_. Not going to them after the fire couldn’t have affected their relationship this much, it made no sense and the more he thought about it the less sense it made. What did Peter mean by Derek knew what he did? Stiles groaned and turned over onto his back, hand slipping over his bared stomach. He blinked owlishly up at the ceiling before looking around his room.

Derek was standing next to his bed. Stiles flailed, quickly sitting up and slamming his head into the headboard. “What the hell Derek?” Stiles yelped. Derek’s need for dramatics was definitely out of hand. Stiles was blaming Peter. He seemed like the one who’d teach Derek how to make ultra-dramatic entrances.

“You wanted to talk.” Derek huffed out like it pained him, “So talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if he hadn’t just surprised the shit out of Stiles and had been waiting for him the whole time. Stiles blushed as he wondered how long he’d been there, if he had just completely missed Derek standing there when he’d come into the room.

“Oh my god, Derek, you can’t just break into people’s room and expect them not to be surprised.” Stiles flailed out of his bed, uncoordinated by surprise and confusion. Derek watched him with raised eyebrows. When Stiles straightened out in front of Derek, he smirked at the older man, trying to cover up his confusion. “So the big bad wolf wants to talk feelings, huh?” He nudged Derek’s shoulders and let out a chuckle when he glared.

“What did you want to say about Peter.” Derek said it more as a statement. Seriously, who taught him how to talk? Stiles needed to have a talk with this person.

“So this isn’t a social visit?” Stiles snarked, “Man, I thought it’d be like the good old times.” Derek let out a growl, but his lips twitched up so Stiles called it a win.

“Stiles,”

“Okay, okay!” He put his hands up in surrender, face falling serious with the drop of his hands, “I think Peter sent the rogue after me.” Stiles went straight to the point. This wasn’t something he was going to beat around the bush for. If Peter was trying to kill him, he needed to know and so did Derek. Derek’s face morphed into surprise before quickly changing to his normal emotionless mask.

“You think Peter contracted the rogue to, what, turn you and Scott got in the way? That’s ridiculous.” Derek shook his head and stepped toward the window.

“No I think he wanted me dead.” Stiles blurted when Derek’s hand touched the window seal. “I think Peter is trying to kill me and I have no idea why, but I think you do.” Derek was frozen and his face empty of all emotion. Stiles quickly went on, not letting Derek get out of this so easily. “Peter came into the station and asked to see the case work from the fire and tonight showed that he obviously doesn’t trust me or like me. The rogue even said I was his intended target!” Derek turned towards him, eyes wide. “I don’t know about you, but it seems a lot like the rogue was hired for this. I don’t have enemies, Derek. The only person that’s shown any dislike for me and is in contact with the supernatural world is your uncle.” Derek closed his eyes and his shoulders dropped, a hand came up to rub at his temples.

“What do you want me to do?” Derek muttered and he sounded lost. Stiles gulped, he really hadn’t thought that far. He honestly hadn’t thought past _someone is trying to kill me_.

“What does he think I did?” Stiles whispered and Derek’s eyes snapped open. “Maybe I can fix it? I don’t know what I’ve done to warrant him to want me dead but I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Fuck,” Derek’s legs wobbled and Stiles quickly brought his desk chair over to him. He watched as the wolf collapsed into the chair, hands buried in his hair. “Fuck, Stiles, I didn’t think,” He audibly gulped. “I didn’t know he was serious.” Stiles crouched in front of Derek and gently put a hand on his knee.

“What is it Derek?” Stiles probably reeked with fear. “Derek, what does he think I did?” Derek squeezed his eyes tight as he took a deep breath.

“Peter thinks you helped burn the house down.” Stiles flinched away from Derek immediately. He tipped backward and fell onto the floor, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“What? Why would he… I was twelve!” Stiles quickly scrambled up onto his feet, “Okay, so, he thinks I killed his family. That’s a good enough reason to want me dead.” Derek watched him as he wrung his hands out. “How do we fix this? I don’t think he’ll calm down if I just go up there and tell him he is wrong.”

“When did this become a ‘we’?” Derek stood, back in control of his reactions. His shoulders were still tensed and if his uncle wasn’t planning to kill Stiles, he would have reached out and smoothed a hand down Derek’s neck.

“It’s your uncle! I thought you would help me!” Stiles huffed out. “You seemed pretty keen on helping Scott, and protecting me from the rogue. I mean, and you’re a good guy Derek. I don’t know about your uncle, or about the six years we were apart,” Stiles took a step forward, hope blossoming when Derek didn’t move away, “but I know that Talia raised you to be good and that the Derek I knew _was_.” They were almost touching now. “Are you really just going to stand by and let your uncle get innocent people killed?”

“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of Stiles,” Derek’s voice was rough with emotion, “I know my mom wouldn’t be proud of me and neither would you. What if Peter won’t back down? I can’t leave him; he’s all I have left.” Stiles’ hand moved without conscious thought, settling on Derek’s jaw. His thumb swiped out over Derek’s stubble soothingly.

“You still have me.” Derek’s eyes flashed at that, body leaning in closer to Stiles. “Nothing you’ve done is unforgivable, Der, but you’ve got to help me here.” Derek jerked away, eyes snapping to the window.

“Your dad’s home.” Derek took a step away from him and cleared his throat. Stiles hand fell listlessly to his side and he two moved away, trying to bring his emotions back in control. “I, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll help you.” His voice came out gruff and scratchy, as if he was trying not to cry. He moved to the window again.

“Derek,” Stiles tried to grab for his arm, not wanting him to leave. He had no reason to make Derek stay, knew his dad wouldn’t be happy to find them in his room this late, but his chest felt tight with the thought of him leaving again.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight.” Derek was out the window and seconds later the sound of the front door closing sounded throughout the house.

“Stiles, you up?” His dad called from down stairs. Stiles shook his head, trying to dislodge his thoughts. This was all more complicated than he thought. He rubbed at his head and closed the window.

“Yeah dad, I’m about to go to sleep now,” He shouted back, sitting down on his bed with a loud sigh. What the hell were they going to do?


End file.
